


forgiveness

by contraryrhythm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke Secret Santa 2016, Exes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contraryrhythm/pseuds/contraryrhythm
Summary: It’s been 176 days since she left Ark, and she’s promised herself she won’t run anymore. It’s time to deal with the mess she left.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unrestricted_reality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestricted_reality/gifts).



> My Secret Santa gift for constellations-and-sunshine on tumblr. The idea for this fic ran away from me a little and I'm honestly not really sure what it turned into, but I hope you like it in some way! :D

Clarke takes a deep breath and sets down her suitcase. It lands on the hardwood with a thud that sounds all too final, and for a second she considers bolting right out the door and hopping a plane back to Siberia. It was nice there. Cold, but she was helping people. And it was away. Easy.

But it’s been 176 days since she left Ark, and she’s promised herself she won’t run anymore. It’s time to deal with the mess she left.

So she stands still for a second, just breathing, consciously trying not to think about anything but the sunlight streaming in from the windows. This apartment is small, a typical studio, with a bare counter, a sink, and a refrigerator, and a tiny bathroom off to the side. There’s no furniture--she’ll probably have to sleep on the floor tonight--but at least it’s free of memories, and that’s all she really wants right now.

She leaves the door open while she unpacks, because as little as she wants to meet her neighbors, she dislikes the sensation of being closed in more. And it’s not as if she has anything in her meager possessions that anyone would want to steal. Clothes, toiletries, crappy laptop, the bare essentials, which are all she’s really needed in the past year of staying in hostels. Everyone knows you should travel light when you’re running away.

It doesn’t take long to sort out everything in her suitcase and backpack, and although a few people pass by her door, thankfully no one greets her. Then she’s faced with the decision of going out to buy food and toilet paper or sitting in her room doing nothing. She chooses to continue sitting on the floor. Probably she should read a book or something, but instead she just stares into space for a little while. She dabbled with meditation while she was in Poland, and this isn’t it, but it isn’t far off. Blank thoughts are peaceful sometimes.

“It’s about time,” a familiar voice says. Clarke jerks out of her reverie and looks up to see Raven in the doorway. Raven’s face looks the same as she remembers it, although maybe a little thinner. And her hair looks different. The sardonic smile on her face is the same, but Clarke can’t help but see something accusatory in it.

“Raven,” she says, eyes stinging, and she can’t say anything else. There’s too much to say.

Raven winces. “Please don’t. It’s hard to be pissed off at you when you’re crying, and that’s not fair.”

Clarke swallows and does her best to blink back the tears. “Sorry.”

“So I did get all your letters, and the flowers you sent, and that hella expensive tool set, and those really nice Godiva chocolates, which I appreciated. I would have appreciated you being here a lot more, but you know, you bolted, so.” Her voice is conversational, even casual. “Bell and O were a huge help though.”

Clarke takes a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry Raven, more than I can say. I wish I was there. I thought--”

Raven waves a hand dismissively. “Look, I’m not here to scream at you. I was mad at you at first, but I get why you left. What happened wasn’t your fault, but you think it was. And now you’re back, which I assume means you want to make it up to me. Yes?” She looks at her friend expectantly.

“Y-yes,” Clark stammers. “Yes.”

“Good. Then we’re going to move on and you’re going to make up for the last six months. Starting with some ice cream, your treat.” She jerks her head towards the outside. “Ready?”

\-----

The ice cream shop is just three blocks away, which would ordinarily feel short, but Clarke is stewing in confused thoughts all the way to the shop. Raven requests a large butter pecan and Clarke randomly picks mint chocolate chip. They find a table in the corner that isn’t too sticky.

Raven gives her an assessing look. “You’re about to apologize again, aren’t you.”

Clarke picks at her cone, unable to look her friend in the eye. “I know I was a horrible friend and an a horrible person to leave you like that, Rave. I don’t really know if it’s possible to make up for that.”

Raven shrugs and takes a lick of her ice cream. “I’m just taking it as license to punch you in the face someday when you annoy me.” Then she sees the look on Clarke’s face and sighs. She looks down for a minute, serious now.

“Look, Clarke, here’s the truth. What happened was a horrible, miserable thing. Finn...Finn died. And you thought it was your fault, so you ran away because you couldn’t handle the guilt. That was a chickenshit move, but it doesn’t make you a bad person. Was it hard without you? Yeah. Really fucking hard. I had to deal with losing my boyfriend and you. Do you have any idea how screwed up I was, those first few months? I needed you, and you weren’t there. Off helping random Russians instead of your best friends.”

Clarke is close to tears again, but she listens. The least she can do is listen.

Raven takes a deep breath, and now her eyes are shining too. “But here’s why I forgive you, idiot. Every other time in my life, you’ve been there for me. When I wrecked my car and you drove 4 hours to pick me up, when I broke my arm and you took me to the hospital and took care of me every damn day--so I thought, why now now? Why isn’t she here now? And then I tried to imagine if Bell was dead and it was my fault, or I thought it was, and I don’t know if I could stand it either. Maybe I would have run too. Probably you thought I was angry at you, and better off without you. Well, I wasn’t, and it was a stupid and selfish decision, and it’s going to take a while to make everything normal between us again, but I love you and I forgive you. Just know that you better be there for me every second of the rest of your life from now on. Letters and shit don’t count.”

Clarke has given up holding back the waterworks, and there are tears streaming down her face. “I swear to God I will be. Even though I don’t deserve you.”

Raven manages a smile. “Damn right you don’t,” she jokes. Clarke gets up from her chair and leans over to hug her tight. She holds on for a few extra seconds before Raven says, “All right, all right with the mushiness already. Your ice cream is going to melt on me.” Clarke laughs, wipes her eyes, and sits back down.

“How...how are you with...everything?” Clarke asks lamely.

“You can say it, you know. It’s better when you acknowledge it, or at least that’s what my therapist says. ‘How are you doing with Finn’s death?’ And the answer is...I’m honestly still a mess. I think about him a lot. I cry a lot more than I used to. But I’m starting to move forward, and that’s something. What about you?”

“I still...I still don’t like to talk about it. I fled the country for half a year, so you have an idea of my coping skills,” Clarke says, wincing. Then a thought occurs to her. “Hey, how did you know I was back in town?”

Raven responds between licks of her ice cream. “Sinclair saw you on the street. It’s a small town. Probably almost everyone knows by now.” She pauses. “Did you tell--?”

Clarke interjects sharply. “No.”

Raven tilts her head slightly. “He doesn’t blame you, you know. At least, not anymore. We had that revelation around the same time. Though I’m sure he’ll hold it over your head for a little while.”

“I...I can’t,” Clarke says.

“You can’t what? Face him after breaking his heart?” Raven inquires matter-of-factly. “Well, you should. He struggled as much as you did with everything, and he could use your help, even if it’s just as a friend.”

Clarke sighs. “I don’t even know if he wants to see me.”

“Of course he does,” Raven says. She takes a bite out of the cone, then says with her mouth half full, “Are you still in love with him?”

Clarke almost drops her cone. “I--no! Jesus, Rave, you can’t just ask that.”

“So you are,” she concludes. “Good to know.”

“For your information,” Clarke sputters, “I met a great girl in the Ukraine. Her name is Lexa and we’re keeping in touch.”

“Mmhmm,” Raven says noncommittally. “Just don’t wait too long, okay?”

Clarke shakes her head and devotes her attention to her ice cream until Raven finally changes the subject.

\-----

_It’s a gorgeous spring night, and the four of them are taking advantage of it. They’re at their favorite bar, Dropship, and the music is almost as loud as their laughter. Bellamy and Clarke are sitting on one side of the booth, Finn and Raven on the other—double-dating, Raven had scoffed. So cliché. But she liked it anyway._

_It’s trivia night, so they’re fiercely competing with the reigning champion team in the corner booth, the Grounders. (“What kind of name is that?” Finn laughed.) They’ve made it a resolution to win against them someday. But they’ve already gone through a few rounds of shots, and it doesn’t seem like tonight will be the night. Which, considering how much fun they’re having, is actually okay._

_After a disappointing defeat, which the four boo enthusiastically, they stay for a while. They get a free round of tequila for participating in trivia, so of course they down their drinks, and by this time they’re cheerfully drunk. Clarke is leaning on Bellamy’s shoulder, laughing at Finn’s joke about piranhas, when she has the presence of mind to glance down at her boyfriend’s watch._

_“Shit, guys, it’s 1am,” she sighs. “I have work tomorrow.”_

_Finn waves a hand dismissively. “Work. Who needs money anyway? Let’s all live in a box together.”_

_“Good idea,” Bellamy says. “Let’s take bets on who murders who first. I’m betting you’re the first to go, man.”_

_Finn makes a face of mock indignation. “Whaaat. Little old me?”_

_“Hell yeah,” Raven confirms. “I’d take you out myself.” She smiles at his expression and drops a light kiss on his nose. “With love,” she adds._

_“Then I can die happy,” he quips, and kisses her on the lips._

_Clarke groans. “Okay, get a room, you two. Or a box.” The two of them grin unrepentantly._

_Bellamy rolls his eyes, smiling. He looks at his watch. “But seriously, we should get out of here. I have work tomorrow too, and cardboard is not my dream house material.”_

_Raven sighs. “Party poopers. Fine. We should probably take the bus, yeah? I don’t think you should drive, babe.”_

_“The bus? When my car is right here?” Finn shakes his head. “I am practically sober. I could drive into space. Call me Spacewalker. No, Spacedriver. Whatever.”_

_Raven looks at him skeptically. “Do we need to do the drunk test?”_

_“Sure!” Finn says. “Hit me with your best shot.” He touches his nose theatrically with his right index finger, and then his left._

_Clarke laughs. “I think he’s gonna be okay, Rave.”_

_“At least for a few blocks,” Bellamy concurs. “He’s got a fast metabolism.”_

_Raven eyes her boyfriend, assessing. “You sure you’re good, O Spacedriver?” she asks, half-serious._

_Finn salutes. “I am good to go and at your service, friends.”_

_He spins his car keys around his finger as he leads the way out of Dropship. For some reason, that’s the image that sticks in Clarke’s mind. It would have been so easy to take those keys out of his hand, to say no, wait, let’s just take the bus. Better safe than sorry. And he would have rolled his eyes and complained, but he would have gone along with it._

_But that’s not what happened, so Clarke relives this moment over and over again, painfully locked on the fact that at this moment, Finn’s BAC is .09, and despite his coherence, that’s enough to impair his judgment and reaction time behind the wheel. And the fact that 15 minutes later, Finn Collins is dead._

\-----

After Clarke and Raven part ways, the first thing Clarke does is go home and charge her phone. She’s left it dead for the better part of the last six months, avoiding mutual communication and instead choosing to communicate her well-being via letters. This served the dual purpose of precluding replies, since Clarke’s address in Europe changed frequently (and needless to say, she didn’t keep anyone updated). She knows it was cowardly and awful, but it was her way of keeping herself from falling apart completely.

When the phone turns on, she forces herself to read through every text she’s missed. Dozens from Raven, ranging from grief-stricken to worried to furious to frustrated. Her heart aches to read them, but she forces herself to keep going. There’s an obscene number of messages from her mom, who seemingly never gave up hope that Clarke would text back instead of sending the occasional postcard. And…there’s a handful from Bellamy.

April 29th, 3:30am: _Where are you?_

April 29th, 3:31am: _Clarke, I don’t want to lose you like this. Please talk to me._

May 1st, 9:20am: _What the fuck, Clarke. You really left? This isn’t fair._

May 3rd, 9:54pm: _I am so fucking pissed at you. You don’t just get to run away._

June 5th, 6:47pm: _Are you ever coming back?_

June 19th, 12:53pm: _Shit Clarke I miss you_

September 3rd, 4:38pm: _Come back home._

Clarke lowers the phone, takes a deep breath. Her heart is racing, and she tries to reason with herself to calm it down. What’s past is past. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a responsibility to own up to her mistakes. She texts him.

_Hi…I’m back. Can we talk?_

The response is almost frighteningly immediate.

_Yeah. Tomorrow?_

_Sure_ , she answers. Such a simple exchange for such a damned complicated situation. She suddenly needs fresh air, so she grabs the phone and heads outside her apartment. It’s a brisk October afternoon, fading into evening, but not so cold that she really needs a jacket. In fact, the chill is comforting in a way, invigorating. She wanders down her street for a little while, familiarizing herself with the trees and the little shops along the way until the sun sets and the streetlights come on. As much as her thoughts are in turmoil, it’s a peaceful walk.

Peaceful, that is, before she gets back to her apartment and realizes she hasn’t brought her key. Shit. She scours her pockets, hoping that she might have absentmindedly shoved the key in her jeans, but no luck. The next step is to seek out the apartment’s main office, who presumably have a master key; but by this time it’s 6pm, and the building manager and his secretary have left for the night. She is well and truly screwed.

Since the grand total of her friends in Ark who are alive, not angry at her, and not involving complicated mixed feelings equals exactly one, Clarke does the logical thing and calls Raven. She picks up on the third ring.

“It’s a hella weird but also nice feeling to see your name pop up on my phone again, Clarke. What’s up?”

“So,” Clarke begins, “you know how I just moved in, and got a shiny new key to my apartment?”

“You locked yourself out,” Raven concludes. “Wow. Record time, Griffin. Must be all that karma coming back to bite you in the ass.”

“You know, if this is cosmic punishment, I don’t really mind, but I do need to sleep somewhere. And the office is closed. Can I crash at your place?”

“Back one day and already asking for favors,” Raven jokes. “No but honestly, I would love to help, but I’m actually working the night shift tonight and I’m not going to be off till late.”

“I don’t mind,” Clarke says quickly. “I can stay up late.”

“My roommate also happens to have a bee up her ass about people staying over without me asking three days in advance. Sorry girl, but I’m afraid it’s a no-go. Howeverr,” she says, drawing out that last word, “I have an idea of someone you could call.”

“No,” Clarke says instantly.

“You don’t even know who I was going to say. What if I was about to say Monty?”

“You weren’t. You were going to say Bellamy, and that is crazy.”

“He’s the only one other than me who doesn’t hate you right now. And you guys need to talk anyway.”

“We were going to talk tomorrow!” Clarke sputters. “This is not the foot I want to get off on!”

“Either that or you’re sleeping in the hallway, my friend. Just suck it up and do it,” Raven advises. “Gotta get back to work, bye!”

“Rave, wait—” But Raven has already hung up.

Clarke’s first thought is whether she could actually sleep in the hallway. How bad could it be, really? Homeless people sleep in the street, a hallway would be much better. She can’t possibly ask anything of Bellamy. She has no right to ask anything of Bellamy after everything that happened.

After several minutes of fierce debating with herself, anxious pacing, and biting of her nails, Clarke is forced to conclude that Raven is right. She needs a place to stay, and she’s way too broke to try for a hotel. If Bellamy is her only option, so be it. Then they can talk, and Clarke can get out, never ask him for anything again, and stop screwing up his life.

She calls him.

\-----

_Clarke sits in the hospital, legs dangling over the bed. She’s already changed from the hospital gown to her normal clothes. Her injuries were minor—some cuts, scrapes, bruises. She was sitting in the backseat, so she got the least of the impact when Finn turned left directly into an oncoming truck._

_Meanwhile, Finn is dead. “Dead.” Such an odd word. It sounds like what it means. Blank, cruel, final, point-blank, irreversible. And she could have stopped it._

_There’s a knock on the door, and Clarke looks up from her thoughts. It’s Bellamy. His face looks as bleak as she feels, and there’s a bandaged scratch on his cheek._

_“Hey,” he says._

_“Hey,” she says back._  
  
_He pauses, a muscle working in his jaw. “I talked to the police. They’ll have a few questions for you too.”_

_She doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, “How’s Raven?”_

_“The doctors are still working on some of the deeper cuts, and she’s still unconscious, but they say she’s going to be fine.”_

_She stares at the floor. White tile, light grey patterning. Typical hospital décor. She’d always wondered why everything in hospitals was white. It gave everything a bleached, false-clean feeling. Who knew how many people had bled on this floor. And how many had died. Her vision blurs. When she speaks, though, her voice is level._

_“I said he’d be fine, Bell. Raven wasn’t sure, but I was the one who said he’d be fine.”_

_Bellamy looks down, bites his lip. “Clarke, you can’t think like that,” he says hoarsely._

_She’s past the point of arguing. “Finn dying? That’s on me. It’s my fault.”_

_“Clarke, no. Look, I thought he was okay too, it’s my fault as much as it is yours! We’re in this together and we need to stay together to get through this.” His voice is rising with what almost sounds like panic._

_“I can’t, Bell,” she says. “I’m sorry. I need to…I have to go.” She’s already sliding off the bed and moving towards the door. As she leaves the room, Bellamy keeps pace with her._

_“Clarke, stop it! We have to talk about this. You can’t just shut down,” he says. “Raven needs you. I need you.”_

_“You are 100% better off without me, Bell. And so is she. Her boyfriend is dead because of me. I might as well have killed him, and right now I can’t be with her and I can’t be with you.” She’s reached the lobby of the hospital. She doesn’t hesitate, just keeps walking out the automatic doors. Just outside, Bellamy catches her by the wrist, bringing her to a stop._

_His face is stricken. “Clarke, you don’t mean that. Let us work through this,” he says. It’s the closest Clarke has ever seen him come to pleading. “Come back inside.”_

_Somewhere underneath the staggering guilt and numbness, Clarke’s heart is breaking at the look on his face. She hates herself even more for causing it—which only strengthens her resolve._

_“I’m so sorry, Bell,” she says, struggling not to cry and failing. “Goodbye.” She pulls her wrist free, and he lets her go, walking fast into the hospital parking lot._

\-----

Her heart is in her throat as she waits for him. On the phone he had seemed confused and guarded, but not angry. He said he’d be there to pick her up in 10 minutes. She paces, plays on her phone, tries to take deep breaths, and rehearses different versions of what she might say to him. None of them prepare her for the reality, because as soon as his familiar car pulls up, all the breath is knocked out of her lungs. Her fight-or-flight response screams “flight,” but that’s the bad instinct that got her here in the first place, so she forces herself to stand her ground.

He parks and steps out of the car. Her brain goes through several frantic iterations of greetings—hug? High-five? Awkward wave?

She settles for a simple, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says back, hands in his pockets. He looks the same as he did half a year ago, curly black locks and all. Clarke’s traitorous heart does the same skip it always used to.

They stand there facing each other, the car between them, for a long minute.

“So you locked yourself out,” he says.

“Yeah…” she says lamely.

“Well, get in,” he says, and gestures to the passenger seat. Uncertainly, she does. She has no idea where they stand, and it makes her incredibly uncomfortable. Then again, she probably deserves it. Bellamy gets back into the driver’s seat.

“Look, I just want to start by saying I’m so, so sorry,” Clarke begins. “I was a coward, and I ran away, and I hurt you and Raven, and I handled everything wrong.”

“Okay,” he says, starting the car.

Unnerved, Clarke continues. “I feel horrible about it, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re still willing to help me after all that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, pulling out of the parking space. She waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. His lack of reaction sends a sudden fear creeping through her. Maybe he doesn’t blame her anymore because he doesn’t care about her. Maybe he’s moved on. Which, honestly, would serve her right.

“I just want you to know that I’m so—” she tries one more time.

“Sorry, yup, I get it,” Bellamy says, tone sharp. “I said it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, biting her lip. She looks out the window so that he won’t see the tears forming in her eyes. Distantly she’s annoyed that she’s been crying so much today. Stupid.

The rest of the ride passes in silence, and Bellamy doesn’t speak again until they get into his apartment. It’s just as Clarke remembers it—clean, tidy, and filled with history books. The familiarity of it juxtaposed with his coldness makes her heart hurt.

“The couch is yours,” he says, barely looking at her. He picks up his mail to go through it. And that’s what makes something snap inside her.

“Bellamy! I know I fucked up, but I’m trying to fix it. Please at least look at me!”’

He slowly puts down the mail, and looks directly at her, anger and hurt in his eyes. She feels as if he sees right through her. He always has.

“You left us, Clarke. You left _me_. And I get why you did it, I do, but I think it gives me license to be pissed off. You’re not the only one who lost a friend.”

She’s worried, and chagrined, but also strangely relieved. Anger is better than no reaction. It means he still cares.

“As much as I hate that you left, I don’t blame you for it. I hope you got some clarity while you were away. But right now, I don’t want to talk about the past. I want to talk about right now. I want to know why you’re back and what you’re going to do.”

Clarke takes a deep breath. “That’s fair. I’m back because I want to fix things. I want to be a better friend to you and to Raven, and to O and Monty and everyone else. I want to make up for what I did and make it better. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness—”

“Deserve my forgiveness? Clarke!” He puts his hands over his face. “You want forgiveness? You’re forgiven. Here’s what I want you to understand: I’m angry that you left. I’m furious. But the part I’m most angry at is that you put all of the blame for Finn on yourself. Which is fucking stupid, Clarke! I said the same things you did. I could have stopped him. We’re equally at fault, and you’re punishing yourself like you murdered him. You have to let it go.”

“I’m trying,” she says quietly. “I really am.”

He steps closer to her, takes her face in his hands. “I need you to know it’s not your fault. I need you to know that you don’t need to isolate yourself from everyone, to kick yourself again and again for something you didn’t do. And I need you not to run off to fucking Europe for six months when things get hard.”

She gives a shuddering sigh. His thumb is gently rubbing a spot on her neck and her heart is pounding at the touch, but she’s trying to focus.

“The guilt thing, I’m working on. The Europe thing I can guarantee will never happen again. There were some really weird toilets there.” It’s a weak joke, but he laughs. He always laughed at her jokes, even the bad puns. She tries to stop herself from hoping that there’s a chance.

“There’s one more thing I need to know,” he says, and now his voice is gentle. His eyes search hers. His face is too damn close for her to breathe properly. “You broke up with me six months ago. Has…has anything changed?”

She definitely can’t breathe now. “Bellamy…I felt guilty, I was a wreck. I left because of that, not because I didn’t love you. Never because I didn’t love you. And I’m still a little bit of a wreck, honestly, but if you’re willing to give me a chance, if that offer to work through it still stands, I’m yours, and—”

His lips are on hers before she can finish the sentence. Heat blooms throughout her body, and she instinctively locks her arms around his neck. He pulls her closer, presses her tight against him in an embrace that's equal parts passion and relief. Kissing him feels like singing a song she knows by heart. The past six months might as well never have existed.

Of course, they did exist. They did, and they’ll have consequences. She knows that.

Yet locked in Bellamy's warm arms, as he rains down kisses on her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her neck, it's easy to feel optimistic. She has him, and Raven, and she’ll work on the rest—and for now, that’s all the forgiveness she needs.


End file.
